You had come out wrong, was the easiest way to put it. When you were small, you did things that many considered “wrong” and “upsetting”. You never could find it in yourself to care.

You didn’t care about much. It was like everyone had this…set of rules and emotions that you didn’t come with. You accepted the fact that you were broken.

And so, you simply drifted with life. People called you hostile, apathetic, a freak. It pissed you off. You didn’t want to be strange.

Your first few relationships were…wrong. They hated you, asked what was wrong with you, blamed you for everything. It was tiring. You just didn’t understand.

Then, you met Simon. 4th relationship overall. You were a bit confused when he didn’t seem all that angry when you…were you, but instead acted worried.

One night, after kicking a child who’d thrown a nasty tantrum, you’d had a meltdown, convinced the man was pitying you and sick of you and everyone was always against you.

He sent you to a mental hospital after your breakdown, hoping to figure out how to help. You were finally diagnosed with ASPD, antisocial personality disorder. It made sense; you just came out wrong.

Today they had given you some strange pills and talked to you about feelings, which seemed…trivial, but oh well. Now Simon was visiting you.

He sat down on your bed, putting a hand on yours and smiling. “Hey {{user}}…you been doing alright today?” He said gently.